It felt out of the ordinary arriving at our dinner destination without elevated blood pressure and a general crappy attitude about our impending meal. We walked childless through the tinted doors and Hubs took control, checking us in for our 5:30 reservation. Immediately I felt my head lighten and I’m not sure if that was due to not having three kiddos in tow or the fact that I saw Hubs at that moment as not only my husband and father my babies…but as a dominant. Now…I’m not getting all fifty shades on you but coming from the past few years of me ordering four fast food meals only to yield at the end to his order, it felt nice. We were led through the marbled floors, past tables secluded by curtains, to our half circle booth. The surroundings were magnificent. The black cloth napkins, the provincial style mirrors and the blue glow from the 1940’s reminiscent bar…it was like something out of a book. We settled at the middle of the booth, inches from each other. He looked striking dressed in the button up shirt I purchased for his Birthday and smelled divine. With the exception of one photo, our cell phones remained put away. We chatted throughout the meal, laughed and smiled…a lot. God I missed this. The food was exquisite. Hubs opted for the porterhouse steak and I chose a house favorite. It was a magnificent dish of lobster, shrimp, artichokes, prosciutto, cheese ravioli, and garlic cream sauce. Before I knew it, I took the last sip of my first ever martini; a delicious blend of Malibu Rum, Grey Goose Vodka, pineapple juice, and orange juice, then left the relaxed confines of our booth. As we loaded ourselves back up in the family car, I felt happy that we had the experience but disappointed that it was over. If we had the time and resources…I would date the heck out of Hubs. After all these years, he still makes my heart quicken and my breath hitch. I’m a lucky gal.